Just Another Day in Emerald City
by Ke'Anna
Summary: A Day in the life of the Em City inmates


Just Another Day in Emerald City  
  
"Hurry up, Cyril," Ryan commands, "I want to get out of this fucking kitchen before doomsday."  
  
"Okay Ryan, I'm almost finished," Cyril answers from his place in the back where he's stacking boxes of oatmeal for the next morning's breakfast. He bridles a little at his brother's brusque tone. He hates it when Ryan raises his voice to him, but it does make him move a little faster.  
  
Adebisi watches the exchange, not because he's particularly interested in what the brothers are doing, but because they are something to look at. For the past ten minutes he has been scrubbing diligently at a soup pot, whose contents are pretty well stuck on. No industrial strength Palmolive will cut a dent in this grease. He's bored with scrubbing, bored with working in the bustling kitchen, bored with being in prison. He can't do anything about the last, but maybe he can fix the first two. He scrubs harder cursing softly in his native tongue.  
  
The elder O'Reilly is watching him too. He cuts his wily eyes at the bigger man as he takes inventory of the stock. Something is going on with the big, crazy African, and he wishes he could figure out what it is. This penitent, quiet, yassuh, nossuh boss shit is starting to get on his nerves. The fact that Adebisi won't let him in on the joke infuriates him . . . and it makes him nervous. He wonders if Adebisi knows how he sold him out, how he'd told Peter Schibetta that Adebisi, alone, killed his father.  
  
He puts his clipboard down and approaches Adebisi carefully.  
  
"Hey, Adebisi, how ya doing?" he asks, testing the waters, trying to see if this is merely the calm before the storm.  
  
"Since when do you care," Adebisi asks, his accent thick and guttural in his throat, "You," he pointed at the thinner man, "only care about you."."  
  
"Yes, I do. And I want to make sure there's nothing going on in that hairy head of yours that shouldn't be, know what I'm saying?"  
  
An enigmatic smile forms on his lips as Adebisi pulls the heavy pot out of the greasy water, dries it deliberately and wordlessly, and drops it into O'Reilly's arms.  
  
"The only thing going on in my head, is wanting to finish and get out of here. That okay with you . . . boss?"  
  
Before Ryan can answer, he hears his brother calling to him.  
  
"I'm finished Ryan," Cyril says, "Can I go back now?"  
  
Ryan goes to check on his brother's work and he when he comes back, Adebisi has walked out of the kitchen, his apron, plastic gloves, and hair net tossed nonchalantly on the counter.  
  
With the mask of humility pulled carefully back over his features, Adebisi makes his way back to Em City.  
  
He deposits himself firmly in a seat behind Kenny "Bricks" Wangler and Arnold "Poet" Jackson. They are, of course, watching their favorite program, Miss Sally's Schoolyard, but not for the educational value. Kenny's eyes are glued to the bouncy young woman's ample bosoms. They are practically busting out of her thin, print sundress.  
  
"You watching this again, Wangler?" he asks wonderingly. It seems to be all anyone ever watches.  
  
Kenny frowns. So what if it is? What else is there to do? When he isn't planning on the best way to get to Hill that is. He *is* going to pay for ratting out Snake. Kenny's mind fills with plots but none of them will work, because he can't get close. Because all the other gang leaders are protecting him. But he will find a way, oh yes, he will. Until then, he will watch Miss Sally's Schoolyard every hour of the day if he wants to.  
  
"Yeah, I am." Kenny says, not even bothering looking at him. What's the matter? Did fucking Schibetta up the ass do something to your dick? You don't like looking at tits anymore?" Adebisi doesn't answer but his soft, brown eyes begin to smolder.  
  
God*damn*!" screeches Kenny, "Look at those things! They're huge! Man, what I wouldn't give to be one of those puppets right now."  
  
"Fuck the puppets," adds Poet, admiringly, "I wanna be her bra. Must be made of steel to be holding those babies in."  
  
They look at each other for a minute then nod their heads, grinning. "Yeah!" they say in unison.  
  
Rebadow, sitting a couple of rows to the left of Adebesi rolls his eyes at the boys. In his day he would have gotten his mouth rapped for him if he used such language in front of adults. But kids today, they . . .  
  
He mutters a small "oh" as the urge to urinate grabs a hold of him. He starts to rise but the sudden movement causes Bricks to turn an eye on him. The older man freezes in his tracks. His mind wanders back to the day Kenny beat him up and took the brownies his mother sent him. There have been no such incidents since, but he is still afraid of him. He sits back down.  
  
"What's the matter Bob?" The Mole asks him from the adjacent seat.  
  
"Nothing."  
  
"Come on! It's me, you're talking to."  
  
Rebadow looks at him for a moment before he relays his dilemma.  
  
"Oh," Busmalis mutters, nodding with compassion. He understands what it's like to be old and scared. "Well, I'll go with you. Safety in numbers and all that."  
  
He starts to rise. Rebadow grabs his arm and pulls him back down. "What good will that do? They'd just beat up us both."  
  
Busmalis considers this and shrugs. "Bob, sometimes you just gotta pee."  
  
Not willing, nor even knowing how, to debate the logic of that, Rebadow gets up. He deliberately doesn't look at Kenny who is smirking away as he watches the two older men leave.  
  
Rebadow and Busmalis chat quietly as they make their way to their pod and the blessed relief of a waiting bowl. They're so deep into their conversation that they almost trip over Beecher, who is making his way to the gym. Keller is tagging along like a little lost puppy while Beecher pointedly ignores him.  
  
"Whoops! Sorry Tobias."  
  
"S'okay," he mutters, barely giving him a glance, but managing a small, almost absently reassuring smile for the older man.  
  
It is his first time being in the gym since his "accident" and certainly the first time since that he'd ever been in it with Keller, (not that he wants to be this time, but the guy won't stop following him). He knows that he's done a number on Keller by implying that he was the one that had stabbed him. Head games do wonders on a man, he knows, and he's enjoying the torment it's putting Keller in.  
  
He doesn't know if he can believe Keller or not when he says he's sorry and that he really does love him, but he hopes it's true. It would make his little revelation about the stabbing all the more painful (in every sense of the word) for his former love. Part of him, a small part, wants to forgive Keller for what he did. Part of him still loves him, but he tries to close that part off, tries to bury it. It would do him no good. The only emotion he would allow himself to feel in connection with Mr. Christopher Keller is a thirst for vengeance.  
  
Beecher positions himself on the small, padded bench where he will lift weights. He takes some of the weights off of the thin metal pole. Only a small amount at a time, of course. He doesn't want to over do it, does he? Not after his arms, and of course his legs, have been so cruelly broken, but he did want to build his muscles up again. He lays down on the bench and prepares to start pumping.  
  
Keller stops trying to talk to him but is watching him intently, barely concealed hurt and confusion dancing in his eyes. No, he thinks to himself. It can't be. He couldn't have been the one that stabbed me. He's just messing with my head. It just *couldn't* have been him. But does he really believe that. He wants to, so much, but he can't be sure. That's why he's trying to talk to Beecher, trying to get at the truth. He *has* to know.  
  
As Beecher pumps and pumps, his T-shirt starts to ride up a little, revealing a swatch of white, sweat-moistened stomach. Keller stares at it, feeling a part of his nature rise. The damnable confusion flits over him again.  
  
"It wasn't you," he ventures again. "It wasn't you, Toby. *Tell me* it wasn't you!"  
  
Tobias ignores him.  
  
"Well well well, the two love birds here together," he hears a familiar voice say.  
  
He doesn't have to turn around to see who it is. But he does.  
  
Schillinger and Robson are standing inside the door, grinning at them both. Schillinger has an arm thrown companionably around Robson's shoulder. Beecher keeps pumping, faster this time, grunting angrily.  
  
"Hey Beecher," Robson calls to him. "I can help you with that, if you want. I can teach you the right way to thrust."  
  
Still pumping, face red, starts to reply but Keller jumps in. "Yeah, he knows. And he knows how to bite, remember? Obviously some stupid assholes don't know how to learn their lesson the first time."  
  
Beecher stops for a second and looks at Keller. Keller meets his eyes briefly and then Beecher turns away from him. He starts to pump again.  
  
Robson just shakes his head at them, not the least bit afraid, not with Schillinger there to back him up.  
  
"Hey, come on," Schillinger says, obvious amusement on his face, lets go play some pool. "These fucks aren't worth the trouble." They start out into the pool room  
  
"But don't worry," he throws over his shoulder, loud enough for the two men inside the gym to hear," I got something very pretty in mind for the both of them."  
  
He takes down two sticks, handing one to his friend, while Robson starts racking the balls.  
  
"I go first," Schillinger says. Robson just shrugs.  
  
"So spill Vern. What do you have planned? I want in. That cocksucker is damn well going to pay for what he did to me."  
  
"Yeah, and it was his cocksucking that got you in trouble, wasn't it?"  
  
Robson reddens the tiniest bit. "Tell me, you son-of-a-bitch. What do you have planned for those two? I want *in*!"  
  
"You'll have in, trust me. I got something just right in mind for you."  
  
They put their heads together, while they play a couple of games of pool. Afterward, Schillinger leaves Robson alone in the pool room while he goes to take a shower. Talking about Beecher and Keller always makes him feel a little bit dirty, like he was swimming in their muck. But his revenge, oh that will make him feel clean.  
  
Miguel is inside, standing closed-eyed under a faucet while the warm water flows over him. Freshly released from solitary after striking a deal with Warden Glynn to reveal who raped his daughter, he's come right for the showers. He's spent months in solitary and now he wants to wash away the pain, the hunger, and the loneliness he's experienced. Every drop of water that hits his body makes him feel a little more like himself. No, not like himself, he's feeling better than that. He's feeling brand new. He doesn't know how long the feeling will last, but he'll enjoy it while it does.  
  
The proud, the powerful, the leader of El Norte, El Cid, comes in. He doesn't speak but Miguel knows it's him just by the sound of his walk. He wanted to please El Cid. El Cid told him to pluck out Rivera's eyes. He hadn't wanted to, but he could see no way to escape it. They would have killed him, if he hadn't done it. He saved his own life but he feels like he lost his soul in the process.  
  
He turns to look at El Cid who has purposely taken a showerhead right next to him. When he looks at El Cid now, he doesn't know how to feel. He doesn't know what emotion is safe to embrace. Reverence? Not anymore. Anger? He doesn't dare. Anger might cause him to do something that would make things even worse, though he is hard pressed to see how things could get worse.  
  
Oh yes I can, he thinks, they can put me back in solitary. *That* would be worse.  
  
For a while he just looks at El Cid, waiting for him to speak. At last, the older man does.  
  
"You're out."  
  
He nods, "Yeah, I'm out."  
  
That seems to be all that needs to be said. Miguel turns off the shower head, and puts on his clothes. With one last glance at El Cid he starts to walk back to his pod. His eyes are fixed forward, except to glance once inside of the laundry room as he passes by.  
  
Inside are Hill, Said and Arif. Hill and Arif are taking care of their unmentionables for the week. Said, of course, doesn't wear any. He grimly folds a couple of pairs of slacks and puts them in his laundry basket.  
  
He can feel Hill's eyes on him, wanting to ask him something, not quite sure how to put it. After Hill opens and closes his mouth for the third time, Said finally turns to him.  
  
"Is there something you want, Augustus?" he asks, patiently.  
  
"No! Well yeah. I heard something and I wanted to know if it was true."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"I heard that you went to bat for me, with some of the other leaders, to protect me from the gangstas after what happened to Coyle. That's how I got to come out of P.C."  
  
"Where did you hear that?"  
  
"A little birdy told me. It doesn't make a difference how I found out. It's not exactly easy to keep secrets around here. I just want to know, is it true?"  
  
"What do you think?"  
  
"Said--"  
  
"Look Augustus, no one is going to hurt you. That's all you need know."  
  
He grabs up his laundry and starts away leaving Hill and Arif to stare after him. Hill turns to Arif, preparing to pose his question again to someone who might be a bit more receptive, but Arif only shakes his head gently. Hill's mouth closes with a snap.  
  
Said passes by McManus who eyes him indignantly. Said returns the look only with his customary dignity and self-importance. McManus turns his attention back to Whittlesey, who is having her first day back at work after her mother's funeral.  
  
"You sure you don't want to take a few more days off, Diane? I mean, you didn't have to come right back."  
  
"Yeah I did," she says, her expression reserved. The only indication of the grief she's experiencing is the slight catch in her throat. "I have to work. I have to, or I'll go crazy thinking about it, you know?"  
  
He nods a little. It's similar to what Gloria said when her husband was killed. "Who's taking care of Dee Dee?"  
  
"I'm leaving her in an after school program, then a friend of mine will take her until I pick her up. She'll be taken care of."  
  
"That's good," he says gently. He remembers the first and only time he saw Diane's little girl, a pretty, dark-haired thing, and he had blown off her mother in front of her. He felt a small twinge of shame at the memory. "You want to come talk to me for a few minutes?"  
  
"Oh, thanks Tim, but I got work to do. I have to stop off at Sister Pete's and pick up a file on the new arrival."  
  
They part in the hallway outside of Em City as Diane makes her way toward The Psych Office.  
  
She knocks softly on the door. Sister Petes bids her come in.  
  
"I just came for the file on Johnson."  
  
"Right here," Sister Pete says, picking it up off her desk and handing it to her. Her eyes fill with compassion. "How are you doing? Holding up okay?"  
  
Whittlesey nods and offers her a smile "Yeah. Im going to be okay. Me and Dee Dee both. I, uh, gotta get back to Em City."  
  
"All right."  
  
Sister Pete watches as the woman pulls out of the room and returns to her work. She is looking at the file of Malcolm Coyle, now deceased, and boy what a way to go. She shakes her head slowly. Just another day in Emerald City. 


End file.
